An Apple for Stranger
by Ohmaesterhelp
Summary: Sandor meets Arya for the first time.
1. Chapter 1

_Dear readers, this is the translation of a short text already published on a different site. It is me who wrote it but as I am no native English speaker, I do hope it will sound okay for you all the same ..._

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He liked the harsh landscape of the North, it was not so hot and not many people lived here. He had never really liked King's Landing, the city was too crowded and stuffy, and those who lived there were either wealthy and conceited or poor and disgusting.

Sandor did not particularly like his fellow men, but if he were not the loner he had been all his life, he would have preferred the company of the Northmen. They seemed hard and taciturn, but also honourable, maybe because there were hardly any sworn knights to be found up here. He was stared at all right, but it seemed to him as if in the North, the curious stared less or less intensively than in the South. He was used to it, though, and had stopped caring years ago, so he could not be too sure whether this feeling was right. Anyway, no one bothered him and that suited him well, because the only thing he wanted was some peace and quiet.

There was one exception, however, and he consciously perceived it for the first time on the morning of his third day in the enormous castle of Winterfell. He was in the stable grooming his war horse, Stranger, when the beast suddenly started rolling its eyes and prancing about in a nervous manner. Sandor immediately realized there must be someone else around, but he could neither see nor hear anyone.

As the stallion would not stop snorting excitedly and stepping on the spot, Sandor opened the door of Strangers stall to look up and down the stable lane but it was dark and deserted. Only the other horses moved in their stalls munching hay and snorting softly. Shaking his head, he returned into Stranger's stall, but his horse did not want to be groomed any more. The stallion rolled his eyes and neighed irritably. Sandor followed Stranger's look and noticed for the first time that they were not alone in the stall. In the stable, an intermediate ceiling had partly been installed, in which hay and straw bales were stored in considerable numbers. Leaning its back against one of the strong wooden beams, knees pulled to the chest, a child was squatting several feet above him.

It was a little boy, so it seemed to him, wearing a thin linen shirt with a green doublet, a leather jerkin and trousers of the same material. Sandor estimated his age at six years approximately, although he was not particularly good at estimating the age of children and besides, the little one's face was in the shade.

"What in all Seven Hells are you doing up there? You are scaring my horse!"

Sandor was angry, he liked the early hours of the morning best, because he was usually undisturbed then. He needed his rest in return for dealing with lickspittles, fools and sons of bitches for the rest of the day. And with the crown prince who in his opinion could also shine in the two latter categories. The child above him did not move.

"Come down here, boy, or I'll come for you", Sandor growled. "Come down on the spot, because if I have to pull you down myself, you will regret it."

Finally, the boy came to life, he pushed his legs over the edge of the board and let them dangle. His answer, however, surprised Sandor.

"As you will. If you come up here to fetch me, the ground is going to collapse. You're too heavy." The little one's voice was soft and bright. Sandor's brow furrowed.

"Then I'll get you down with a pitchfork, damn it. Down here, _now_!" he snapped at the boy.

The legs dangled a little faster, then they were quickly pulled up again, the boy got up and disappeared between two hay bales and out of sight. The ceiling creaked dangerously and a few moments later he was back, much to Sandor's annoyance. He balanced across the wooden wall beside the stable door, fleet-footed and agile, but Stranger put a sudden end to the spectacle. The war horse rose, snapped at the little figure and the boy only managed to escaped by taking a brave leap into the stable lane, disappearing from Sandor's view. Cursing, the big man rushed through the swinging door, determined to teach the boy a lesson he would not forget.

As it turned out, he could save himself the effort. The little one was lying in the middle of a pile of horse apples, the disposal of which nobody hat taken care of, flat on his stomach. Forehead, cheeks and nose were smeared with horse manure, and also the shock of brown hair had suffered a great deal so that a hellish smell emanated from the boy. Only now could Sandor see his face clearly for the first time, which was dominated by big, grey eyes that did not really match the somehow oblong shape of his face. Sandor approached him menacingly, but the desire to pull the boy out of this mess by his equally messy hair resided quickly.

The bright grey eyes in the boy's small, pale and unattractive face were anxious, but finally his face twisted into a mischievous grin which after a few seconds expanded into a radiant smile revealing a wide tooth gap in his mouth. Horse manure clung to his face like freckles and Sandor snorted contemptuously. The boy started to giggle, quietly at first, then louder so that Stranger began to prance wildly in his stall again.

"Shut up, damn brat! I really don't feel like pulling you out of that shite, but if you don't fuck off immediately, you will feel my riding crop, that'll make you suffer. If my horse hurt himself because of you, you're dead, I swear it by the Seven!"

The boy stopped laughing immediately, lowered his eyes and murmured: "Forgive me, Ser. I didn't mean to scare him really …"

Sandor spat, just inches past the child's head. "I'm no Ser."

The little one looked up to him in astonishment, his eyes darted over Sandor's cruel scars, but there was no expression of disgust or fear in his face unlike in most other people's.

"Who … who are you then?"

Sandor spat again, but did not reply. Someone else did it for him.

"That's the Hound. What are you doing on the floor, Lady Arya?"

Sandor spun around, irritated. He had heard no one enter. The maester of the castle whom he had noticed around before, but whose name he did not know, was standing just a few steps behind him. Yet he did not look at him, Sandor, but at the unlucky fellow that was lying in front of them in the dirt. The maester shook his head, rolled his eyes to the sky and sighed.

"You were not back in your room by daybreak, my lady. Your wolf is howling after you and Septa Mordane informed your High Mother. You will be confined to your room again. Especially when they see how you are looking like right now."

The boy who was no boy rose to his feet and the whole extent of the fall became evident. The light-coloured linen shirt underneath the jerkin was brown with horse droppings and yellow with urine. Dirty straw clung to his doublet and jerkin and was tangled in the child's shaggy brown hair.

Sandor could not hold back a guttural laugh.

"A lady, huh. The thought would have never occurred to me. You are the ugliest lady I've ever met. If all the ladies in the North are as ugly as you are …" He snorted scornfully.

The fuzzy-head now straightened up to her full size, which was about that of the gnome, and glared at him.

"You are mean. And it's not even true. My elder sister Sansa is quite pretty."

"And you are not. And won't be, even if you wash yourself. But maybe, you'll smell better then."

Sandor left the maester and the dirty child behind and withdrew into Stranger's stall.

The arrival of the second unknown person that morning had made his black stallion even more nervous and Sandor walked slowly over to him, talking to him softly and trying his best to ignore the two others.

"You are going to have a bath now and I will tell Septa Mordane to come up with an appropriate punishment for you", the maester ordered.

"Please, Maester Luwin, I would really like to stay with the Hound. He was just about to show me his horse."

Sandor could not believe what he was hearing. The little one was lying through her teeth but he could not detect any sign of bad conscience in her voice.

The maester shook his head sternly. "Arya, I do not want to repeat myself." One could tell he was getting angrier by the minute. Surely, he too was sometimes overwhelmed with the liveliness of this child.

The girl pulled a face. "See you later", she peeped over the stable wall. "I'll bring an apple for you horse."

Sandor pretended not to hear. Their steps moved away and the stable door creaked feebly as the man and the child stepped into the cold courtyard. Sandor had good ears and could still hear the distant voice of the white-haired maester.

"You will not do that, child. This man is dangerous. His reputation is more than dubious, stay away from him!"

Ned Stark's daughter answered something he only half understood, then the stable door closed with another light creak. Sandor shook his head. He thought he had misheard, but maybe the child was not only naïve, but also damn stupid. Still, the phrase stuck in his head for the best part of the morning while he doggedly resisted thinking about the meaning.

" _But I like him …"_


	2. Chapter 2

Sunrise was still several hours away and one of the direwolves was howling somewhere in the depths of the castle as Sandor walked through cold and sleet across the courtyard, opened the heavy wooden gate and entered the comparatively warm stable which smelled of horse manure and hay. Two lanterns cast deep shadows on the walls and the quiet horses. All the stalls were occupied by at least one horse except for Stranger's, as far as he knew. The huge black stallion tolerated neither man nor other horses in his immediate vicinity and Sandor was the only one who could approach him without running the risk of being severely bitten or kicked.

As he walked down the stable lane, he suddenly heard the nervous snorting of his horse and when he had gotten close enough, he recognized the cause. The damn child was there again.

This time the little girl had not hidden herself in the hayloft but was hanging halfway over the balustrade of Stranger's stall, a red-cheeked winter apple in her left hand that she was holding out to Stranger. But the stallion, smart as he was, did not take any food from anyone but Sandor. Now the beast snorted angrily at the little intruder, but the girl stubbornly stayed where she was.

"Come on, these are the best and juiciest apples in the whole of the castle and I stole one from the kitchens, if that comes out, I'll be in serious trouble so don't let it be in vain!"

The child was so focused that she did not hear Sandor coming, she uttered a low, suppressed scream as he grabbed her by the collar of her jerkin and pulled her off the wooden balustrade.

"You again", he growled menacingly. "Didn't I express myself clearly enough last time? I don't want to see you here no more!"

He shook her violently to show her that he was being serious and her messy brown hair fell into her face and over her eyes.

"Let go of me! I didn't mean no harm! I just wanted to give him an apple!"

Sandor, however, did not let her go until her teeth started rattling.

"There is good reason why this horse obeys only me and no one else. A good war horse just acts like that and doesn't make any exception. Are you so damn stupid you haven't savvied that yet?"

When he finally let her go, the little girl quickly took a few steps back to get out of his reach.

"I'm not stupid, Ser", she explained with a dignity that seemed ridiculous in Sandor's eyes in light of her looks.

Like the day before, she was wearing boy's clothes that, at least as far as the green linen shirt was concerned, looked far too big on her. It was stuffed into a pair of coarse, brown trousers held together by a wide leather belt with an admittedly considerable sword attached. The weapon had a fine, narrow blade that reached almost down to her ankles.

"And I'm no Ser."

The girl gnawed at her lower lip. "What should I call you then?"

"You shouldn't call me at all, all you should do is to simply fuck off."

But this command was deliberately ignored by the little one. Sandor opened the door of the stall and walked in to calm Stranger while the girl pulled herself up the wooden balustrade again in order to peer over the edge.

"What's your real name, then? 'The Hound' is no real name. It's not even a nice name. It sounds cruel."

"Maybe because I am. Annoy me somewhat more and you might even find out today."

"But first I want to know your name."

"And if I tell you, will you fuck off and finally leave us in peace?"

The small, thin girl shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Maybe."

Silence spread between them. The child was still hanging there, her little feet drumming rhythmically against the balustrade, her large grey eyes following each of Sandor's movements. In her hand she was still holding the big, juicy-looking apple. Sandor stepped up to her and snatched it away from her hand in a single swift motion. Only seconds later, the apple cracked between Stranger's teeth and the giant horse munched on it joyfully. The child watched silently and the only sounds were the grinding of Stranger's teeth and the occasional snorting and pawing of the other horses in the stable.

"Sandor Clegane", he finally said into the silence, much to his own surprise. The little one indicated a bow as far as that was possible hanging over the balustrade.

"Nice to meet you, Sandor Clegane. I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell." She beamed at him showing the wide gap between her teeth. "Sandor is a pretty name. I like it. I will call you Sandor, then."

Sandor sighed inwardly. This child was really annoying. He felt foolish having a conversation with a little girl and was glad that Joffrey was not around. Usually Sandor only had to cast one look at children that age and they ran for their mothers, screaming, especially the girls. But this specimen did not even seem to have noticed the cruel scars on his face.

But maybe there was another way to get rid of her. Sandor looked at Arya closely. "Last night at the banquet I had a good look at Lord Eddard's other brats. They all seem quite tall to me, the Starks, huh? And you were right, your sister is a real little beauty. Only you are kind of puny. Your hair is a nightmare, not to speak of your face … Are you sure the Warden of the North is your father? And if so, who's your mother? A forest witch? His own sister? A whore of the King's Road?"

He could feel a certain triumph as he saw the child's face darken.

 _Well, so much for that_. Hopefully she would leave him alone now. But Sandor's hope was in vain. The girl pulled herself up onto the balustrade until she could stand on it, Stranger reared up, but by then she had already disappeared around the pillar and pulled herself up to the hayloft above the adjoining stall.

Sandor cursed loudly and tried to calm the horse. Finally, Aryas face appeared again above them. She squatted down in the same place as the day before and stared gloomily down at him and the stallion. For a while she remained silent, then it came from above:

"It's strange that a man with a face like yours calls me ugly. Have you ever looked into a mirror yourself?"

Sandor's gaze darted upwards but it was so dark up there he could hardly make out the girl's features. He was about to say something nasty in return but thought better of it. _I don't, nowadays_ , he thought bitterly. Finally, he heard a small sigh.

"Forgive me, Sandor. That was not nice. But my siblings are not nice towards me, either. They call me Arya Horseface. All of them, except for Jon Snow. I'm sorry I said that. And you are not so ugly as that anyways. You are …" Her voice trailed off.

"You don't have to compliment me, Arya Horseface. It would help me a great deal if you just pissed off without me having to fetch you myself."

"We already had that", she replied cheekily. "Make up something new for a change. And it's not nice of you to also call me Arya Horseface. I told you that in confidence. I don't call you Sandor Scarface either."

"Call me so and you hang dead over the nearest fence, Horseface."

Meanwhile, Stranger stood and followed their verbal exchange of blows curiously, letting out a low, disapproving snort from time to time.

"Young children should still be in their beds this early in the morning, why aren't you?"

"Because I am no young child anymore. Next week's my name day. I'm turning nine."

He could hear pride in her voice. "Oh, well then …" acknowledged Sandor with a voice dripping of sarcasm. "Then you're almost a grown-up."

The little girl was apparently still too young or naïve to understand his mockery.

"No, that will still take a looong time."

He could almost sense the wide smile on her face when she said that.

"Will there be a welcome with food and drink in the Great Hall?"

She frowned. "No, I don't think so, but if you'd like to come …"

"By all Seven Hells, no."

"Oh. Alright."

For a while it seemed as if he had silenced her, then she went on: "What's the name of your horse?"

Sandor picked up the curry comb that hung at a wooden beam. "Stranger", he answered after a short moment.

She repeated the name thoughtfully and studied the huge, black stallion. "The name suits him. I keep a direwolf. A she-wolf, actually. Her name is Nymeria."

Sandor cautiously groomed Stranger's flanks and suddenly Arya asked: "Are you married?"

He spat out. "No."

"Why not? You're quite old if you ask me."

Sandor wondered if he should just ignore the smart-aleck child, saddle his horse and go for a short ride into the fields surrounding the castle in order to escape this intrusive questioning. Only then did he remember that the stallion had twisted his ankle the other day and that he should allow him a longer rest. He sighed. "Do you think a woman would like to look at this every morning waking up?" He pointed at the burnt side of his face.

Her answer actually surprised him.

"When you truly love someone, you overlook their smaller flaws, as my High Father always tells us. I like you scars, they make you special. And if you washed it more often, you'd also have nice hair."

"You would not even have nice hair if you washed it three times a day", Sandor shot back.

"That's not true. I just don't like to wash and comb my hair every day of the week. My sister Sansa does that and it's enough for both of us."

 _The pretty little babbling bird that I caught gawking at Joffrey as if he were a fucking gift of the Gods to us low creatures. One day, she might discover what lies truly behind his chivalrous behaviour. If she's unlucky enough._

Arya's legs were dangling over his head when she asked the inevitable question. "Sandor?"

" _What_?"

"How did you get those scars?"

Sandor moaned inwardly. Rarely someone dared to ask him personally about this, at least he had to give her that. The little one was quite straightforward and did not let him scare her.

"What's it to you?"

"I'd like to know. I asked a lot of people, but nobody could tell me. Maester Luwin says they're burn scars and that they must be quite old. That certainly hurt, didn't it?"

Sandor did not answer. He grabbed the curry comb tighter and drove it in long, even movements through Stranger's shiny, black coat.

"Please, Sandor", Arya begged, "I won't tell anyone, I promise!"

He raised his eyes and looked up at her, then sighed deeply.

"Alright, listen up. I was still very small, or young rather, 'cause I never was small. As young as you. Then one day a knight came riding up to our keep, one side of his face being badly burned. I asked him where he got the scars from but he wouldn't talk about it. So I annoyed him and annoyed him some more, and I also annoyed his horse, every morning I would show up in the stables where I found the two of them and I would annoy them by asking the same question over and over again. Until he showed me one day. Since then, I've been looking like this."

Arya stared at him wide-eyed. "He was no true knight then."

Sandor groaned loudly. "I'm taking the piss, haven't you noticed? You are not very smart, are you?"

"But you just said …"

Sandor lost his patience. "Forget it. Go and howl with your direwolf, girl."

Of course, she would not and Sandor began to believe this was his own personal hell created by the Seven. _I've probably talked more yesterday and today than I did on the whole trip to this godforsaken place and that took more than a fucking month._

His stay in the North proved to be much more strenuous than he had ever thought.


End file.
